Such as knew how to blow the Trumpet best:
Who with loud noise and cackling, cri'd like Geese,
For Rites, for Temple, and for dearer Fleece.
'Twixt God and _Baal_, these Priests divided were; }
Which did prevail, these greatly did not care; }
But headlong drove, without or wit or fear. }
The _Pharasees_ they curse, as Sons of _Cham,_
And all dissenting _Jews_ to Hell they damn.
_Shimei_ the Poet Laureate of that Age,
The falling Glory of the _Jewish_ Stage,
Who scourg'd the Priest, and ridicul'd the Plot,
Like common men must not be quite forgot.
Sweet was the Muse that did his wit inspire,
Had he not let his hackney Muse to hire:
But variously his knowing Muse could sing,
Could _Doeg_ praise, and could blaspheme the King:
The bad make good, good bad, and bad make worse,
Bless in Heroicks, and in Satyrs curse.
_Shimei_ to _Zabed_'s praise could tune his Muse,
And Princely _Azaria_ could abuse.
_Zimri_ we know he had no cause to praise,
Because he dub'd him with the name of _Bays_.
Revenge on him did bitter Venome shed,
Because he tore the Lawrel from his head;
Because he durst with his proud Wit engage,
And brought his Follies on the publick Stage.
Tell me, _Apollo_, for I can't divine,
Why Wives he curs'd, and prais'd the Concubine;
Unless it were that he had led his life
With a teeming Matron ere _she_ was a Wife: